Ashen Tears (An Adaptation of the Fall of Gondolin)
by Erurainon
Summary: A heart-wrenching drama of love and suspense, adapted from Tolkien's legendary myth. This tale accounts the meeting between Tuor and Idril, as well as the saga of their relationship, threatened by the darkness of Maeglin. It also accounts for the political and social circumstances leading up to the horror of the fall and the fate of the Noldor.
1. Chapter 1

The doors were locked, and the room cold and grey. An elf woman clad in white knelt with her back to the wood and bolted iron- her hair the color of dawn. A fountain churned clear water a few feet away, and where the windows grinned down from the sealing golden light bloomed. It was a quiet place- a gentle place … A dead place with nobody to meet, and nobody to talk to. Idril loved and hated it, the way she wore her circlet. The metal rings felt heavy against her brow and ached like ice. A familiar face had forged it, and placed the band gently on her laden head. She shut her eyes, and knew that he was waiting for her beneath the archway where the darkness fell- A pale face in the dead hall. A dull minute flew by like a puff of air, and the long dread gnawed her brain.

"Do I displease you," he called stepping into the light- His eyes locking with her own. She did not remember opening them.

"Why do you haunt me," she gasped bighting her lip. Her soft hands trembled like her father's banners in a bighting breeze. "I can't … We can't."

"Can't we," the hard voice purred, echoing like his anvils beneath the deep places of the earth. "Can't we … You are royal blood. I am royal blood."

"You know we're too close for that," Idril sighed getting to her feet- Her shadow overlapping his …"Besides, you know that isn't really why."

"Tell me," the cold voice demanded leaving his chapped lips. Death stared through her from those dark eyes. "Tell me, and I'll go …"

"I don't want you to go," Idril moaned clenching her fists. A callused hand met her cheek that made her inch back. He nodded and turned to go punctuating the grim silence- his footfalls like the bells of doom. Idril stared into the blank distance, and dropped to her knees- A flood of dreams between them. A door creaked open from the opposite end of the hall. The long silence returned broken only by the sound of flowing water. Idril gaped into the fountain at the heart of the room and blinked away the tears; she knew would come- Who in all Arda could understand?

Gulls flew overhead and pecked at the dead fish lying on the sand. Pebbles and granite lined the way into the great tunnel, and from the weathered gate, markings could be descried too dim to read. Tuor shuttered, and peaked behind at the warn path he'd taken down from the grey cliffs. Thunder rumbled in the mountains and there was a heavy fog in the air that made the blood run cold. Grabbing hold of the nearest latch, Tuor parted the gate and entered in, leaving the cold dusk behind him- A pale wanderer in a pensive world.

The ground was even and had been carved by elven hands- He knew as much from his days in the wild. A dream-like haze hung about the corridors that opened up on either-side. It was an ageless majesty no hand could mar and no blade could kill. The very night recalled blessed whispers by torchlight long, long ago when the fair harps of the Noldor rang in those halls. After climbing a few flat steps, Tuor came to a broad room coated in dust and grime. A shaft of clear light burst in through the roof and fell on a seat hewn from the living rock. A helm, hauberk, and sheathed weapon lay there glinting like stars in the evening sky. Tuor timidly extended his hand to touch the cold metal and closed his eyes in thought. His hands clasped the blade and fastened it to his belt- The hilt fit perfectly in his fist like an elf sire of war. Awe and doom moved his weary heart, and he pulled the coat of male over his shoulders in delight. The helm fit his head splendidly, and he strode from the night-shade of Nevrast a man worthy to behold- A lord of noble kindred.

The gale blew harder in the lord's ears and made him cling to the archway behind like a mariner trapped at sea. A great churning came from the waters and where the clouds loomed overhead, darkness deeper than the caverns of the dwarf-lords fell upon the roving waves- A power unlike any mortal man had known. A great cry leapt up in Tuor's throat, and he would have fled and abandoned all his attire, if not a calm voice subdued him, the voice of Ulmo, Lord of Waters.

"Hold thy ground," the voice kindly spoke, "And look on me with thy own eyes."

And low, from out of the depths there came a figure greater in stature than any lord among elves or men Tuor had ever seen. On his head he bore a kingly crown and in his eyes dwelt a goodly light akin to the hue of bright purls beneath the waves- A fearless benevolence wondrous to adore. The man of many miles gazed on in breathless dismay, and knelt at the great Vala's feet- His face a mask of bewilderment and love.

"Why do you call me O lord," he gasped aloud bowing his head. "Have I done wrong against you? If so, I crave your pardon and offer up my service such as it is …"

"Nay, nay," the great lord laughed beaming down at Tuor. "I hath raised thee out of bondage in the land of your fathers to great deeds. I will not forsake you. But low, an evil mightier than all the pride of the Eldar winds his woe in Angband, and there is much in needs to be done. Go now and bear me this word unto Gondolin and the king thereof- That the days now run short. Either he flee to the sea and depart unto the West where he is welcome, or endure the doom of exile and death. For my hand withdraw from the waters of Middle earth and the pestilence of Morgul wax."

"Alas," Tuor wailed hiding his face in the folds of his cloak. "I would that all Hador's house be slain and my proud brothers bound to Mandos than the flower of Gondolin whither and die. But let Eru's will be done, and thy command delivered. Turgon will hear thee or doom must follow."

"Then let it be so," the lord Ulmo declared retreating into the depths, "And where you go, may my blessing follow, even to the ends of the world."

The waves departed and a great calm entered the beach. All was silent save for the rush of the sea and the whistling of the wind. Tuor gazed down at the blade sheathed at his side, and nodded gripping the pommel. He had work to do. But where to begin. The patter of footsteps approached from behind, and he turned abruptly expecting to find a foe. The instant he locked eyes with the stranger, his hand left the sword's hilt- It couldn't be … An elf lord clad in sable and wearing a circlet on his brow peered down at Tuor with mingled awe and incredulity. Both wanderers shrugged and burst out laughing in amazed joy- They weren't alone.

"By Eru," the elf exclaimed clapping his new friend on the shoulder,"It's been nigh on a year since I stepped foot on dry land or met a lord of Hador's kin. You must be … You look like a man from Dor Lomen. Tell me, how fair your people?"

"Ill," the man replied shaking out his drenched garments. "Your king and his lords marched out with the dwarf clans and Fingan. Few among their number returned and the seven flew like leaves before the wind. My father was slain in that battle. Huor he was called, and Hurin the Steadfast was his brother they say … The hardiest of mortal men."

"You are Huor's son," the elf cried leaping in excitement. "I ought to have known you from first sight. He was a fine man indeed. I left after the great battle and know of what you speak. I was sent hither by my lord Turgon to find passage to the Valar and to beg aid. Yet I was cast adrift and my friends drowned in the roving waters. Ulmo brought me here out of the depths, and … Here you find me. Breathing, I'm glad, and eager to return home. What draws you to this desolate place, and why are you arrayed in my lord's armor?"

"Ulmo sent me hither to find these arms you see," Tuor explained gesturing to his helm and hauberk. "I was also delivered from Dor Lomen to heed the words of Ulmo and to bring them to the hidden city if I might. Is it far?"

"Yea a great way," Varonwë admitted in hushed tones. "It is clear to me that you were guided to me so I might lead you. But be wary of the snares of the enemy, and trod lightly in his lands. We have far to go and few friends between …"

"Ulmo will see us through," the man sighed hiding his bright male in the folds of his tunic." We have hope."

Turgon glared across the table at a large map planted on the wall. Red and black lines intertwined like a great web, casting the landscape in an unreal blur. Glorfindel shook his head. Torchlight gleamed off the elf's fair face. There was a sadness there no year could whether … And a wisdom also. It had been a long day.

"The enemy moves," the elf king reflected shutting his eyes. "A darkness whispers within our own halls. We are too blind to see it …"

"Help will come if he finds us here," the golden haired lord assured rapping his knuckles on the hard wood. "We still have time- Perhaps Angband has turned its eye To Doriath or the ruins of Nargothrond. The great worm is dead I hear."

"Ai," Turgon sighed gazing deep into his friend's glass of wine. It was almost empty. "And they tell me the black sword is slain … And his father cries out in the wilderness nigh our doorstep- My heart forebode ill."

"What troubles you," Glorfindel inquired yanking the map from the wall. The parchment crinkled like dry leaves. "You were never one to fear the enemy."

"One must always fear him," the high king declared getting to his feet. "Too often we've let our guard down- turned our back at the opportune moment … You and I both know, we can never again wage war with the seven sons and …"

"Have they craved thy hand in their business," the elf captain prompted bighting his lip like a mortal man. "They tell me they still have hopes of reclaiming a gem from the Iron Crown. What folly …"

"Nay … Nay," Turgon groaned putting his hand to his forehead in concentration. "It's a lot harder to place then that and less clear cut. I had a dream … A terrible dream my friend."

A brooding look entered Glorfindel's face, and he drooped his head preparing for the worst. He had been witness to prophetic omens and nightmares before, but Turgon … If he was plagued by foresight … The king cleared his throat.

"I saw the tower," he said clutching the edge of the table. "I saw the tower crumble to the earth and the fire drakes reduce high battlements to ash. I saw children dying in the streets and their mothers cast themselves into the flames. I saw you and a man I knew not at the head of a mighty host, and our banners felled like trees in a gale. Hot blood ran down the cobblestones and dark faces consumed by hate … And rage. And … I saw him … Laughing on the iron throne far, far away. Laughing my friend, like a caged jail-crow fed a bone, and there was power in his eye. It was enough to make my blood run cold, and every joy in my heart perish in ash and tears- … Ash and tears."

An icy silence punctuated the chamber. Glorfindel didn't know what to think or believe. He just stared at the floor in disbelief. What was going on? There was more here … And yet only a preview of what was to come.

"Ulmo is trying to warn you," he managed to say after an uncomfortable pause. "He guided you from Nevrast … he will lead you from the hidden vale if you so choose …"

"But that's my woe," the king mumbled- his face lit in the flickering light like a Vala's. "What if, I don't want to go … What if, I'd rather stay?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dark ripples disturbed the water's face. Gentle hands lifted the fine glass to pallid lips, and Idril sighed in contentment. The climb up to the kitchen-floor had been plagued by yammering maids and courtiers. All she wanted to do was put her feet up and read a good book- Get lost in a bard's world. The hall had a low roof and wide windows looking out on the green country miles round. Eagles were flying down from the mountains, and there were towers everywhere …. A pang of desire kindled her heart to peer beyond the balustrades and peep outside the outmost gate … on the land beyond- A new world. But who would let her? No … Her place was with her people … And yet …

A battle of fantastical dreams bombarded her laden spirit, and she pondered long without stirring from her perch. When she had at last made up her mind to get up, there came the call of a horn from the valley. A hard cold minute fled by and the call returned more urgent this time … Puzzled and not a little afraid, Idril got to her feet and tried to make out what was going on, but all she saw were the lords clambering ahead clutching pikes and bows in hand. Was the city under attack or was she just dreaming? The horns blew a third time and the lady felt the back of her neck tingle in alarm. Maybe, the war had ended? Had another jewel been claimed from the iron crown?

Idril turned her back on the window and the empty glass to find the pantry-door open. A familiar face peaked through- grinning wildly like a tom-cat. It was Glorfindel, and he was alone.

"My lady," he breathlessly panted. It had clearly been a hard climb up for him also- "Your father craves your company. We have among us a mighty guest- a man out of Dor Lomen."

"Aren't the people of that land enslaved to the enemy," she blurted out following her friend into the passage outside, and down the winding steps.

The streets were packed with laughing children and beaming maids. The sun shown clearly on the vale as though to clothe Gondolin in a Vala's fire.

"Yea, I've heard thus," the elf lord mumbled cutting through a row of pillars like an arrow. "But this man … He's Huor's son and …"

"No," Idril stammered halting mid-stride. "You're jesting me. Huor's son- It's a marvel he's yet alive."

"You can say that again," Glorfindel grunted tugging her arm. She briskly followed nigh his heels. "The enemy hunted down Turin and Hurin alright. Rumor has it, a bounty has been on this fine lord's head for many a year. Lived in caves and routed out foes in the trackless lands. I dare say, he looks akin to his father. A stout gentleman he is, or I'm not an elf. Varonwë is with him …"

"Varonwë," the lady gasped darting ahead. "Varonwë, you say! My father gave him up for dead long ago … He was always a great tracker himself. No doubt there is a tale to be heard here."

"Ai my lady," the elf lord agreed in a hushed voice. "But we're nigh the place of meeting now. It would be best if we talked later- Good luck! I must be at your father's side."

The lady nodded and clapped her friend on the shoulder with a gentle smile. The captain blushed a deep shade of red and ran to Turgon. The king and his lords were standing at the center of a great garden beneath an old oak-tree Yavana had planted ere time was wrought. A dream-like haze spilled through the branches overhead on two figures kneeling in the dirt- their heads cast down in homage to the king. Turgon gestured for them to rise and locked eyes with Idril. The lady bowed and bridged the distance between the lords and the two who had come- Varonwë she knew. He was a tall lanky chap with bright eyes and a gentle face. They hadn't spoken much years before and didn't do so now … least of all on what her father called, "Official business." But Tuor … Here was a different story.

Here was a man clad in more than a rag. Here was a man with eyes of steel and hair like jet. Here was a man with a helm of yore and a coat of silver. Here was a man who knew how to wear a sword- A captain of lords girded for battle. It made her heart stir within her and crave a closeness she hadn't dreamed of before … though Maeglin had. The dark elf sniveled at the king's hand like a whipped cur. Envy lived in his unflinching gaze. Tuor stared right back, and refused to budge. A doom was on him- An ageless glory. Deep down, Idril knew that the two would never get along … There was too much between them to stand. Turgon cleared his throat.

"Greetings daughter," he politely said striding to her like the chieftain he was. "May I introduce you to these fine lords? Glorfindel tells me, you know there names."

"Yea," she beamed bowing to the two in honor. "Hail kinsman- The stars shine well on thy road. Great joy it is to hold thee near once more. Welcome noble thane of Dor Lomen! Hail lord's son and dear friend. Come and converse with me, for I much desire to speak with you."

"Ai my lady," came the man's deep voice. "It does me great joy to meet thee. Thy kindness is a testament to the hospitality of the Eldar."

"You flatter me good sir," the lady laughed taking his hand. She guided him to her father's side beneath the shade of the tree. "Here stand by thy good liege who will refresh you. I beg you delight him and me with thy errand."

A tense look entered the king's eyes, and he stared at his daughter with mingled fear and apprehension. Idril had never spoken up at a meeting of lords … Let alone to a royal guest. Tuor gently kissed the lady's hand and cast his filthy tunic from his shoulders until it met the ground.

"These arms," he cried, "Came from thy halls O king. Receive now the warning foretold to thee in Nevrast long ago by the lord of waters. Return unto thy ships and to the west where thou are welcome. For low, there is war brewing and much debate bandied in the halls of thy foes. Orcs rampage through the free lands, hacking and pillaging where they go. Ulmo is never blind to thy wants O king. Do not forsake his wisdom. Ere thou do, great sorrow will befall thee, and neither him nor I, would see thee so defeated. Come and be glad- For thy long exile is over. You may come home. Fathers and mothers welcome thee into the fold, and the great love of Manwë is with you. Would you abandon his grace for this?"

"Wise councils," Idril exclaimed to all there assembled." I pray you heed them lest ruin fall upon thy laden heads."

"Peace," Maeglin interjected knocking her aside. That calm malice was in his step. "You are most noble O captain and fair of mind and will. I give you that much … If little else beside. Yet I tell you now, no living man or creature yet unborn could take Gondolin from the outside. Our walls are guarded by more than just watchmen. Years ere you first drew breath, enchantment hath lined the hidden ways beneath the living rock. It's a wonder Ulmo would fret at all- What city is greater than Gondolin- what king more wise than Turgon? What lady … fairer than Idril the Gentle … Or does my heart spew only lies."

Turgon stood between councilor and his daughter as though trapped between the hammer and the anvil. Pain and horror lay beneath his dark eyes, and where he gaped at the hard earth a darkness deepened. Visions of war and death drove his brain to quail at Maeglin's words. Huor had been a man above men- A lord quick to mirth and slow to wrath- a hand of healing and of hope in troubled times. His son was no different- A lord worthy to wear a crown. There was a flame there born of the One that would not die. Yes … Ulmo's messenger spoke true. But what of Maeglin? He was the king's nephew afterall. The dark elf had walked with him and rung from him fears and doubts few among the council had known. Could he really abandon such advice? Besides, who could topple Gondolin? It had taken through the long years to guard her- to guide her through the bleak night. Who would keep her memory alive if unmanned- Nightmare or no nightmare … Yea, he and his folk would remain- There was no better way …

The words came and went- Maeglin and the lords cheered in the light of high noon like the seven sons had O so many years before. Even Varonwë appeared pleased and left with Maeglin and the others for the king's house. But the lady and her father remained their eyes fixed on the man who had come too them through fen and field- brook and mile. He looked sad and weary like a man who had run a great race only to be booed by his friends at the finish-line. It crushed Idril's heart and moved Turgon to pity.

"Come," the king muttered to the man. "My liegeman were impressed by your work. I loved your father like a son. Come, and stay with me … Don't go. You don't have to stay … But I'd want you to."

"Do they want me here," he sighed staring at the crowd of free folk who had gathered to watch the meeting. Although the lords had left the children from the street had not. They waved to Tuor like a king among men and called out to him. But Tuor didn't have eyes for the madness … Only for Idril and her warm smile that made his heart sing.

"What do you want," she whispered wiping a leaf from his forehead that had fallen from above. It felt very small and lovely in her hand- He saw her pocket it and chuckled. Idril couldn't help but laugh. There was too much going on and not enough time to make sense of it all. Why not laugh?

"I'll stay," he managed to say, "If your father will permit it …"

"I do," the king boomed patting the lord on the back like an old friend. "With all my heart."


	3. Chapter 3

Maeglin grinded his teeth and gazed hard at the heavy hammer propped above his mantelpiece. He had formed it with his own hands, and mined for the gold and gems his people held so dear. His entire chamber was lavishly decked in golden figures of chieftains and warriors. Plaques of rock and marble he had hewn from the living earth hung from the walls. The floor and sealing were a mosaic and the windows doorways into a world of candlelight and music. A bard was singing in the street and a charmed fool was laughing. The land outside was chaos. All was dim and cool within- A sanctuary from a restless kingdom.

"Pretty big celebration all for one man," he grunted to himself banging his fist against the mantelpiece. The wood raddled. "All for one man … Only a man … An ordinary, mortal … man- By Morgoth!"

Somebody was rapping on the door. Leaping to his feet, the dark elf put his fake grin back on and fit the key in the lock. The way opened and glaring down at him from the road was …

"Glorfindel," Maeglin chuckled raising a hand in parlay. "Why out of all the people I was expecting, you were never one of them … Please … Please come in. Make yourself at home. I have enough oddments lying about for you to toy with- Want a fresh bottle of wine? Nearly ran out last week, let me tell you! What a mess in the quarry. Dear Varda protect us, ha?"

"Listen up Maeglin," the elf captain sighed shutting the door behind him. "Turgon has a new order and you aren't going to like it."

"Let me guess," the dark elf spat, "He wants to shut down the mines? For the love of Eru my dear friend, Why would you ever …"

"I know you are going to mine anyway Maeglin," Glorfindel snapped pushing the lord to the wall. The dark elf merely sneered.

"And whose going to stop me," he sniveled like a beast. "I know you Glorfindel … I know you much, much better than you'll ever know me, and let me tell you, you'd be out of iron to ward your walls in a week, if it wasn't for me. O, don't tell me, we're reducing the watch- We all know better. You depend on me to get your weapons and I depend on you to get paid. Just turn your head … And no more need be said."

"No," the captain growled bighting his lip, "And if you think I do you're a much bigger fool than I ever thought you were. Do you actually believe I'll let you break the law just to hear a few coins jingle in my pocket …? And we don't need more weapons- You forget there are other delvers and diggers in this city who don't leave the fringes of the realm."

"And you forget what they make isn't worth a slithering dragon," the dark elf huffed, "Or I'm not Eöl's son."

"What a very proud heritage to claim," Glorfindel grumbled. "Your father was a murderer and a perverted monster. He would have rather seen you dead than live here, and you boast you are of his blood …"

"I'm sorry," Maeglin hysterically exclaimed rolling his eyes. "Didn't you listen to that lord … I think you know his name … Who slew many of his kindred and drove them out of paradise. O … too sensitive? Father didn't forget to teach me everything, and I'm not proud of his honor. The lord was a genuine bastard- But you know what he was good at?"

"What," the elf captain groaned not liking where this was going.

"Business," the dark elf snickered. "He was a first class businessman- He always knew how to get his way."

"Great," Glorfindel moaned making ready to go. "Just what I needed … Another miser for company."

"O just one more thing then from the miser," Maeglin interrupted peering over his shoulder at the hammer on the wall. "Why does the … good king want to shut down mining operations outside the realm?"

"More creeps in the shadows than any can foresee," the elf captain darkly warned shuffling out into the night. "You and I both know whose watching …"

Varonwë raised his mug of ale to the moon and drank hardily. It felt good to down a real draft and not merely a pint of water culled from Arda herself. Cheers and ruckus delight followed him wherever he went and the press of well-wishers also hounded Tuor who they called, "great lord," and "prince." After running from Orcs and almost getting eaten alive a few times, Varonwë wasn't so sure if there was anything heroic about what they had done- But hay! Plenty of pretty maids, enough ale to waste a party of dwarves, and plates of fresh bread … Who was to argue? They were now sitting in an out-door café lit by red lamps and starlight. The grass was firm and soft. The minstrel's harp was sweet, and the king's daughter danced barefoot on fields of barley. Tuor couldn't help but stare and take in the spectacle- He was grinning from ear to ear. Varonwë drained the rest of his glass and joined the throng.

Tuor remained seated watching the lady on the grass. Her face was like a lily in a sea of grey and kindled dreams buried deep in his heart war had locked up. Doom fell on him, and he darted from his hiding-place to where she pranced upon the wind-tossed yard. Her bright eyes locked with his, and they frolicked together before the city streets- But two wanderers in a landscape of hope. Weariness gradually drove them beneath the cool shade of the trees where they lay panting like lovers coated in sweat. Neither had ever been happier. Both were exhilarated and freed by each other's company. Idril saw Varonwë and the others begin to take down the white tents, and knew it was time to go. Her fingers clasped with his for the last time ere daybreak, and the two waded out into the crowd. Tuor and his quest-companion met at the over-turned benches very drunk and pleased.

"Don't think we'll ever have a party like that again," Varonwë admitted shaking his head. "Some things are just way too good. You try to hold on to them, but they'll fade like all great memories."

"I don't know," Tuor mumbled wiping his brow. "Am just shocked the lords didn't go through with the plan."

"This is our home," the elf explained gazing up at the mountains above. "It's hard to leave everything you've bled to defend, and nigh on impossible to go back. Ulmo will understand … Besides, you need a break too … "

"I know," the man sighed recalling the shade beneath the trees and Idril's soft breath. "It seems like the king and heiress want me to stay. Don't really see why … But I'm glad."

"You should be," Varonwë chuckled poking his companion like a fool. "She's a hard one to crack, and I can't say any of us had much progress … Maeglin is still trying you know."

"Bad will come of him," Tuor grumbled kicking over a broken bottle. "Didn't appear to be a friendly chap- The lords listened though …"

"O that's because he mines the gold that fills their pockets," the elf lord lazily mused. "He doesn't take to most people. Is a dark fellow with an even darker past- But what do you do with those people? Its wrong to drive them out … But you can't truly love them."

"The king tries," the man observed frowning gloomily at the well-trod ground. "Does Idril?"

A smug smile kindled his friend's lips, and he looked knowingly back at the grove where man and elf maid had danced. Yes … Things were getting more interesting by the minute.

"You know that she's more than a couple hundred years ahead of you," he laughed patting Tuor on the back.

"Hay, Beren pulled it off," the man joked. Varonwë grinned at his friend's male cloak and heraldry.

"Something's telling me you will too," he quietly remarked half to himself. "Something's telling me you will …"

Birds were singing in the vale and there were bells ringing in the hills. A green country stretched out beyond her window- A kingdom of love and promise. But the heart who pondered within did not peer out. Idril molded over loss and hope within. Her mother's necklace and pendent clung to her like badges of war, and there was a magisterial light in her face she hadn't worn the night before. Hand-Maid Eldwin was with her- Eldwin of the harp. The ladies were standing shoulder to shoulder by the fire. Red flames licked the dead wood warming the drafty hall as a hard breeze blew down from the highlands. Dark clouds loomed ahead , and there were whispers of Orc Bands throughout the hapless lands beyond … None of it troubled Turgon's daughter more than Maeglin. The way he looked at her dancing with Tuor made her skin crawl. No words could describe it- No voice could hide it … He had to be dealt with … But how?

"I fear him too," Eldwin murmured plucking a few strings of her ancient harp ere placing it back on the table. "You can't keep running forever Idril … You can play the princess- But you got to stand or he'll knock you down … And claim you."

"He will not have me," Idril briskly pouted gazing coldly at her friend. "I won't let him …"

"You pity him," she explained taking a step toward the door. "I know you … You won't hurt him lest you mar yourself."

"Maybe so," the lady relented clenching her jaw. "But what would you have me do? He's everywhere …"

"What does your heart tell you," Eldwin softly urged staring into the hearth. "There is always a way don't dig your heals in the ground. Don't be reckless."…

"I won't be Eldwin," the princess mused rubbing her eyes. "But its hard putting up with so much and not being able to think clearly- Yesterday came like a bolt of lightning … And … Well … "

"I know," the hand-maid giggled licking her lips. "He's cute … You don't have to hide it. I think half of us nearly fainted when you two went dancing out on the grass. Made my heart flutter."

"No wonder Maeglin flinches like a maiden," Idril snickered. "He can't make up his mind whether he loves me or hates me."

"That all depends on what you call love," Eldwin whooped skipping down the tiled floor like an actress. "But you know … This new man might fit well into discouraging the little prick from eyeing you."

"What do you mean," the princess inquired cracking a sly grin. "Come- You can tell me anything … You know that."

"The poor bugger won't dare insult a royal guest publicly," Eldwin sighed lifting up her harp. "Maybe its time to … Spend a little more time with this fine fellow. I'm sure Tuor is just dying for a tour of the city …"

"You know what," Idril exclaimed bolting to her feet. "I like the way you think."

The bookshelf contained many maps and papers too creased to read in the half-light. Daylight was dying outside, and the room was growing mustier by the minute. Turgon reached for a small booklet and turned his back on the dusty mess- The chamber needed cleaning … But the work was more than he could bear. He thumbed through a few loose pages and made out the familiar hand … A fragile script of songs and poems she had written. That was ere the long road into exile … And the grinding ice.

A cold breath of air blew into the quiet room and disturbed his reading. He stuffed the manuscript into his garments and gazed up expecting to see Idril. But it was Maeglin and with him a darkness wider than the void  
"You were reading her poems," he slyly hissed. "It's a shame, she had to die … My lord. Tell me, was it the ice or a different kind of frost? The road was hard afterall … Too much blood?"

"There's always too much," the king replied pursing his lips. "You know there is … Why do you haunt these halls?"

"These are my halls too," the dark elf coolly snickered. "Do you forget how I bled for them?"

"Do you forget that I am king," Turgon inquired taking a step forward. "I had no inkling you bore your father's grudge. You may share is fate … If you would like."

"O," the dark elf laughed, his feet clamping hard on the wood floor. "I wouldn't worry about that … Kings come and go. Death for fools like me is always constant."

"Why so spiteful," the king demanded furrowing his brow. "In what way have I earned your mockery? In what way, have I betrayed a trust?"

"The mines must be re-opened," Maeglin growled like a beast. "You know where your gold comes from … Don't make an enemy of me. You don't have to."

"I was never planning on being an enemy," Turgon winced bighting his lip. "We can't assure any lord's safety in the caves. If you go outside my bounds … If you are ensnared and taken to Angband your home goes up in ash and smoke!"

"Me," the elf lord spat digging his nails into his tunic. "Me ensnared? What kind of a liegeman do you take me for?"

"Glorfindel delivered my command," the high king blandly stated. "If you disobey, you will be punished by the law! Your place is to follow … Mine is to lead."

"For now," Eöl's son chuckled with Eöl's voice. "What king hands power to a child among princes?"

"You claim there's too much blood spilt outside these walls," Turgon muttered letting his hand linger on his sword's hilt. "You touch him or her and there will be more. Am I understood?"

"O yes," the dark elf snarled bearing his white teeth. "Thy will be done … Master."


	4. Chapter 4

Water poured down from the sealing into a great basin at their feet. There were bright pebbles there and coins that jingled in the pounding current. Ancient trees lined either side of the archway, and in a corner sat Idril with Tuor gazing up at the roof. There were carvings of stars and unnamed constellations the man never knew before. Her breath was hot and honest in his ear, and he loved hearing the whispers mingle with the rumbling waterfall … It reminded him of the sea and the great rush of the deep against the sands of Nevrast.

"I could live here without a care indefinitely," he managed to murmur in humbled awe. A linen sleeve brushed his elbow, and he gazed up into a beloved face. She nodded.

"It's been a fortnight," she sighed closing her eyes. "Many in the high council begin to wonder if you'll stay. My father wants you to … But …"

"You want to know," he mused reaching to take her hand. A lifetime stood between- A world of loss and heart-ache, but the fingers locked …"

"I know why," he admitted watching a silver tear march down her cheek. "I won't let him touch you. On that I give my word."

"And here I thought I was being clever," she laughed embracing him calmly- Her arms like the wings of the wind. "I tried too … Find a good way to get him off my back. But I always wanted to spend time with you. You are a great man."

"I saw you blanch the minute he crept up the king's garden," he explained with ultimate kindness. There were no conditions there- Only a steadfast appreciation, her heart couldn't fathom.

"All this time, I have felt welcome in this house because of you," he assured her bowing his head. "I am your father's servant … Because I am your own. You don't have to fret or ring yourself in with dread."

"I hardly met your father," Idril confessed running a hand through her wavy hair. "But the way you talk, doesn't remind me much of him. Don't get me wrong, he was a mighty lord too … But you are … Different."

"O in what way," he laughed kissing her hand. "I'm here. You don't have to be shy."

"You're like my father," she whispered beaming at him only inches away … And the worlds that divided them foundered.

"I'm not an elf," Tuor stammered feeling his heart overflow with her dreams. "I'm not a king …"

"No," she giggled sliding to her feet. "You're much, much more. Come … Follow me. Let's head back to the garden."

Fields of wheat and barley rolled on far as the eye could see dotted by roofs and ramparts. Homesteads thatched with gold lined cobbled-streets and where the berg bustled, men in male marched in power. Down below the great gate creaked open and riders galloped in geared for war. The earth trembled and the air rang with the cry of watchmen. Turgon nodded and peered back at Tuor, his circlet burning brightly in the noon-day sun.

"Gondolin," he said in a reverential tone like a father to his son. "Have you seen anything like it?"

"I've walked in highlands and lowlands sir," the lord rapturously remarked. "I have never seen anything like this. You could spend a year here and still find beauty in her. I guess that's why you've chosen to stay."

"A year," the king murmured listening to the cavalcade thunder beneath and into the berg. "A year is no more than a puff of air … A missed meal … A penny flipped at a poor game. You've seen much my dear Tuor, but you haven't seen half of what I have- War and fire … And the slow long march through bitter frosts. You can dream these things or read them. But to live them … That's a different story."

"My lord," the man said bowing his head, "Truly thou are king."

"No need … No need," Turgon kindly mused. "I breathe the same air as you."

"You are lord of a great realm. I do as my heart tells me," the man humbly explained. "There is no higher calling than love."

"And what does your heart tell you," the king inquired grinning with wisdom and grace. "The hearts of men are a puzzle to me. They speak to me in riddles."

"Maybe because they are so," Tuor gently chuckled. "There are some dreams better left be and others cracked open. That is up for you to decide. All I know is that if peace had a name it would be Gondolin."

"Come," the high king said gesturing to the archway behind. "I have something you should have."

Tuor nodded and followed the elf lord through the archway and into a stone hall. Light poured through round windows and leaning against a wood bench was a package Tuor hadn't seen before. The king knelt to the ground and flung away the leather cords with a broad grin across his ageless face …. And low, in his grasp, he held a mighty ax of Noldo's make. Runes inscribed with tender care ran down the blade, and where the shaft met metal a floral Sigel bloomed.

"Receive now Dramborleg," the high king announced presenting him the cunning blade. "The lord who bears this token caries the weight of Gondolin with him. Keep it well with love and my blessing."

Tuor held the shaft to shoulder's height and watched the daylight dance off the razor-edge. A pang of joy and astonishment flew through him, and rooted him dumbfounded like a fool.

"You carry with you the arms of Nevrast," the king explained. "You are Vala sent … This is the least we can give in appreciation."

"We," the man mumbled struggling to find the right words to say. A sly look entered the elf lord's face like a ripple on the surface of a deep pond.

"Why didn't you know," he chuckled gesturing to the steps beyond. "She had a hand in this too … She's waiting for you."

A light rain had fallen, and the ground was wet and cool. Eldwin leaned against a young tree and watched the moonlight trickle onto the open places where a warm breeze blew. Far off in the West a pale red glow crackled, lit by a band of lords down from the hills. A maid or two would laugh from the darker places beneath the trees ambling past recalling a drunken Varonwë at table with Maeglin and the king. The pattering of soft feet would rustle the dead leaves and pass … Abandoning the glade to silence. Eldwin was about to turn back, when she heard male clinking along the path. A broad grin creased her pallid lips, and she lingered with the shadows. A grove of dense bushes and birches lined the way to the city, and the road hither was riddled with dust. A gleaming helm and hauberk broke through the green stillness and cast a dim radiance on the rocky soil. She knew him, and their eyes locked.

"You come late," she chuckled shrugging her shoulders in mock carelessness. "You know they've left with the king."

"It went well," the lord exclaimed striding to her side, the spike of his helm cutting through the night like a spear. "My friend the smith did well … Dramborleg is a mighty weapon. It was right for her to give it to him."

"Always glad to lend a hand," she giggled kissing him tenderly on the lips.

The lord blushed and blinked like a lad- His smile a ballad no words could rightly tell. She adored it all the more every day. It was her strength and comfort.

"I am only Ecthelion of the Fountain," he warmly murmured, "Not Turgon of Gondolin."

"Thank goodness," the lady laughed taking the lord's hand. "He's much too serious. Reminds me of an actor in a bad melodrama each time he declares this doom or that doom … Ha!"

"He is a greater king than any I have known," he sighed squeezing her hand in admiration. "But I read your point. I thank Eru every waking moment that you are my wife. Too many restless maids have ruined steadfast lords. I just want you to know … It's been forever since a battle, but I fear it."

"So does Glorfindel," she whispered leading him to a bench by the wayside. "The enemy moves in the dark. Turgon forsakes the word of Ulmo, and a man among men comes. Strange days are afoot, and I will be made a fool if I claimed to know how they are to end. All I know is that this Tuor is a good man and that Idril loves him even as Lüthien the Fair."

"But is this lord akin to Beren," he asked sitting down with her. "He speaks with grace … But does he walk in Huor's footsteps?"

"Yea," Eldwin affirmed removing his helm and placing it on her knee. "Ulmo sent him my dear … I trust him more than any lord among the Eldar or the Edain. A destiny is on him greater than any I have met."

"That is high praise indeed," Ecthelion laughed running a hand through her long locks. "But I believe in you … And will do my best to keep that dark elf cooped up with Glorfindel and the king. It's been hard keeping the gate. Nothing happens during the day, and at night we just pray Thorondor doesn't frighten us with his war-cries. The eagles have done more for Gondolin than any spy among Maeglin's band."

"That is well," she yawned poking him playfully on the cheek, "But what about that ballad you wrote for me?"

"It isn't finished yet …" he grunted feigning dismay. "But tell me, does this Tuor know his guide adores him so?"

"Not yet," Eldwin impishly giggled. "But I'm working on that … And if I know anything about Idril, she is too."

The sword hung from over the lord's hearth where the thick dust gathered. Her fingers curled around the hilt, and the naked blade slipped from its high perch. It had been almost a decade since she held a blade in her father's house. But the metal … The hard steel lent her courage. Tuor looked on, unmistakably impressed, and smiled approvingly at her clever gesture. The ax was nothing compared to this …

"The daughters of the Eldar are not craven," he affirmed retreating to the wall to give her room. "Do the maids of your father's house bear weapons?"

"Alas," Idril groaned putting back the sword to stand with him. "It is customary for us only to learn … Not to act. Seldom has any lady among the Noldor wielded steel into battle accept to ward home and kin. Rumor has it that your women fair no better … Few among the wise argue wisdom these days."

"My kin were all forced to learn and defend," he explained sinking into an ornate armchair. "Whatever custom they had has been chained by the enemy. Yet I doubt not the daughters of the Edain crave helm and hauberk too. I would have thought the lords of Gondolin swift to hear their wives and mothers."

"Ah," Idril laughed fingering her circlet, "If so fell Fëanor would have snared fewer into exile, and the two trees would yet live."

"But then where would I be," Tuor chimed in,"I would never have come hither and met you. I'd be living in a house of bickering nobles and petty land-claims. I'd rather live today with you than endure a lifetime of peace."

"You haven't known Valenor," she honestly teased sitting near him. "How could you measure the cost?"

"That's easy," he kindly replied in a hushed voice. "By your smile."

"You flatter me," she sighed blushing harder than she had the day they'd met. "How do I know you're serious?"

"I've been chained to dogs and dragged through muddy streets," Tuor darkly recalled gazing deep into her eyes. "I've endured more than any man ought to bear … But you … You fill me with hope … And mirth. Its like waking up ere dawn and watching the sun peep over the green land … Yesterday doesn't matter, and tomorrow is far, far away. There is only then and now … And you want more."

"I know what you mean," she whispered clinging to her knees with her back to the hearth,"The night reminds you of how bright the day is."

"I don't know how else to put it," he muttered feeling her breath on his face like the West-wind.

"I do," she giggled lifting a hand to his shoulder. "It's not that hard to puzzle out …"

He kissed her and held her in his arms like the man he was … The man she knew him to be. Hundreds of years couldn't make up for it … No ballad could portray it … All was at peace, and the world rolled on.


	5. Chapter 5

The candle's light was dying. Maeglin could feel the hot wax drip onto his callused skin and bight the rough flesh. He didn't mind- The pain fed his rage … And loss. The seal met the red blur binding the wrinkled parchment, and he glowered down at the bleeding mark his craft had made. A thin smile lit the dark elf's sunken face, and he let a drop stain the page. A dry minute dragged on and the seal hardened into his father's Sigel- the one mark he could call his own … The crest Idril would never bear …

Varonwë stirred clad in grey, the heals of his shoes shuffling on the worn stone. A livid hand clung to the door-knob, and there was a dread in his breath that made the darkness feel darker.

"All are welcome to the wedding," the grey-clad elf murmured bighting his lip. "The entire city will be there … The king is very pleased."

"Is he now," the dark elf mused lifting his cracked and bleeding hands to the window. Starlight streamed through the glass and burnt his eyes. The crumpled parchment dropped to the floor like a banner of defeat. Eöl's son didn't budge. There was too much there … The sable mole imbedded in the wax set his heart ablaze … How dares she!

"You puzzle me," Varonwë sighed gazing up at the carvings the Noldo had made on the sealing. "You don't have to hurt her … Why don't you leave her alone if you love her."

"Because …" the dark elf groaned grinding his teeth. "She is Gondolin … And Gondolin is me."

"You know you have no choice," the grey-clad elf muttered taking a step forward. "She's made up her mind …"

"O," Maeglin yawned gazing down at the letter wearing a face like steel. "Tell me … Dear friend, am I welcome?"

"That's why I'm here," Varonwë reflected pursing his lips. Grey eyes locked with the crumpled parchment like a hawk's.

"No," Eöl's son answered in a voice like black satin. "I thought you'd know better then that Varonwë … She's sending me a message."

"Then why don't you listen," the grey-clad elf grumbled fingering his sword's hilt. "Why can't you leave the past behind?"

Maeglin's heal met the letter and pinned it to the floor. Varonwë held his ground, but kept his mouth clamped shut.

"You can never run from yourself brother," the dark elf spat cracking his father's seal beneath his boot … Blending blood with dirt. "Go tell Idril … I know better than to burn bridges."

The great hall was open to the gardens from either end and had a lofty roof lit by torchlight. The wooden walls were decked in carvings of birds and beasts … And at the head of the table presided the king clad all in white. At his right hand sat Tuor wearing a circlet of gold, and on his left Idril Celebrindel dressed in blue. On her head she bore no circlet, but contented herself with a broach of emeralds Eldwin wrought for her. The metal clip felt cool and fine against her skin, and her father's smile was more than words could tell. Outside she could hear the crickets yammer and watch the moonlight on the crisp green leaves. Only one chair was empty within and one guest absent. Deep in her heart, Idril couldn't be more relieved.

From the end of the hall Ecthelion and Eldwin were sharing a great bottle of wine. It had a fruity tang and sent a warmth through both their heads neither could rightly place.

"What do you think they'll call the first child," she asked him running a hand through her braded locks. Idril had seen to that. "It has to be something pretty like foam-flower or moon-star."

"So you think they're first will be a girl," Ecthelion remarked patting her on the back. "I'd doubt that …"

"What do you mean," she giggled poking him pleasantly on the nose. "A lad can't have a pretty name? And I thought I took a poet for a husband."

"Hay," he groaned licking his lips. "Cut me some slack, I'm only Warden of the Fountain. Besides you're the prime musician."

"O don't go that far my lord," she whooped taking a hearty swig from her husband's glass. "We're always the best together. Remember that show we gave on mid-summer's eve?"

"Which one," he replied his eyes a haze of love and bewilderment. "It's only been a couple of hundreds of years … Or thousands … By Eru, I can't think."

"Blame the wine darling," Eldwin laughed refilling her own cup, "Not me."

"How cheeky," he playfully mocked kissing her like he had on the road. "You always pick the best wine."

"And you always find us the best parties," she chuckled gazing back at the newly wed couple. "How did you find this place? It's a lovely hall."

"Well … "the elf lord stammered blushing like a guilty lad."I kind of … borrowed it."

"What did you do this time honorable sir," Eldwin murmured shaking her head. "You can tell me."

"Tuor came to me and asked for an open place near the gardens," Ecthelion explained grinning from ear to ear. "The land-lord gave me problems so I paid a little visit to the king. The land-lord is out on holiday guarding the front-gate for a week."

"Aren't you clever," she sighed pecking him on the cheek. "Now what am I going to do with you?"

"Ease thy self," he mumbled clasping her hand. "The poor bugger has already been paid. Besides … We have all the night before us."

"Come," she whispered kindly nudging him. "Let's dance."

The marble steps to the great throne were white and hewn with many runes. Banners died green and gold hung from behind the dais and where the doors locked shut a fountain poured clear water. It reminded Tuor of the day Idril had whispered to him ere entering the garden. Almost a year and a half had passed …. And nothing had changed. The birds still sang in the court. Children clustered on the green fields picking the roses and dandelions from the clean earth. No word came from the outside and even if it had, few were interested. The gates were shut, and the city a berg to rival Nargothrond and Doriath which were no more. Gondolin, the bright and magnificent, loomed alone- The last bastion of the Eldar Morgoth could not map. The cries of Hurin in the wilderness lead him nigh the mark. But to the Black Hand, no way was open … King Turgon yet lived.

He gazed down at Huor's son clad in the same garb he had worn the night of the wedding. A bright gem burned on his brow, and in his eyes lived the light of Valenor across the sea. Tuor reached the dais and knelt before the throne, his head bowed in honor.

"You need not bow to me," Turgon warmly murmured descending from his throne. Good mirth grew in his step bridging the distance between them. The man arose and embraced his king like a father. How could he have ever asked for a kinder lord? Without the king's consent Idril might have well ended up in Maeglin's arms … Not all the Noldor were so wise or giving.

"What tidings of my daughter," he chuckled grinning broader than Tuor had ever seen him before. "You two have been quite the married couple."

"Ai my lord," Tuor softly replied, his voice echoing off the lofty roof. "We have been traveling through the country and getting to know the yeoman Eldwin knows. It's been a splendid time."

"I'm sure," the king declared scratching his chin. "But I know you wouldn't come all this way for a social call … Is ought wrong? Is it Maeglin?"

"Good heavens no," the man blanched recalling the dark elf. "He's kept to himself thank goodness. I come with blessed tidings."

"I see," Turgon paternally reflected gazing out into the courtyard below. "Let me guess … She's with child?"

"You are a shrewd fellow," Tuor exclaimed clapping his lord on the shoulder. "Apart from the mid-wife and Eldwin, you are the first to know."

"I couldn't be more pleased," the king answered making his way down the steps. "You are a great man and a lord to be admired. When you first came to us … I knew you would prove yourself."

"I was raised by the grey elves when I was young," Tuor admitted following his lord to the courtyard below. "I hardly knew my mother."

"Where is she now," Turgon inquired furrowing his brows. "I've never heard you say ought of her while you've been here."

"Alas," the man sighed hiding his face. "She died after my father perished in the great battle. Unnumbered Tears … And yet there was no spring. I can only remember her hands like linen on my cheeks- Nothing more."

"I know you never knew your father," the king gently recalled reaching the open place nigh the entrance. "He was a mighty chieftain … Very much like you. The day he came to us, they had been chased by Orcs. Both he and his brother pleaded with me to let them return home … Although my heart foreboded woe. Many are the dooms of men, and not all of them are clear. Yet this much I know my dear Tuor … Your father loved you and so do I."

"Thank you my lord," the man said fighting back the tears he knew must come. "You don't know how much that means to me. I'll do all in my power to be a true father to my child … I just fear the word of Ulmo and the doom that cometh at unawares."

"You believe Gondolin must fall," Turgon darkly mused fingering his circlet.

"Would you want me to lie to you," Tuor exhaled feeling his heart sink in him like a heavy weight. "I don't mean to trouble you sire."

"No," the king earnestly declared frowning down at his hands. "I need to know your mind … Above all others, I value your council the most."

"Well then," the man timidly began fiddling with the broach he bore. "We have both seen the majesty of Ulmo and know his foresight. Without his design, the land on which we stand would be no more than dust before the storm. The enemy is planning … We both know it. His eye is ever bent on us. I swear more than any other king in Middle Earth I adore you most … I beg you beware the guile of Morgoth."

"I hear you," Turgon pondered aloud listening to the murmuring of the fountain. "My word stands … I will not forsake the kingdom for which I bled. But … I will keep vigil lest the gates be breached."

"One things for certain my lord," Tuor mumbled half to himself. "If the Black Hand comes … It won't be ringing the door-bell."

A hand, more fragile than a leaf, reached out to her … Tinier than anything she could have imagined. Idril felt the soft skin meet her palm, and the warm tears role down her cheeks. Is this how my mother felt, she wondered whispering to him- holding him near to her beating breast. Eyes the color of deep water smiled up at her, hungry for her love … Eldwin lifted her harp from a padded chair and ran her fingers down the tense strings. Her lips curled in adoration and a humming came to match the musing melody. He cooed, snuggling nearer to Idril, burying his hairless head in her silk garments. Sleep came like a wave of waxing light before the edge of the world and breathed peace into that cozy place. Tuor knelt over and kissed his wife tenderly, feeling his heart wake in him like a flood of dreams. Their damp faces mingled in a minute that lingered longer than any other he had known … And even that was too brief.

"My son," he managed to say trembling from head to foot like a tree in the wind. "My star … My star of hope."

And as though from afar like the chiming of distant bells, he heard it … The name.

"Earendil," he gently called placing his large hand on his son's head like the man he was. "Earendil … Come …"

A flicker of movement jolted through the babe's limbs and then … The sea eyes opened and blinked like draped windows overlooking the roving waves.

Outside all is still and silent. Golden flowers bloom by the wayside and the shade beneath the arms of the trees lies cool and thick. An elf lord kneels there like a dying man, and he is crying. He weeps for all that was and all that is. He weeps for the burden of life and all his toils. He weeps for a mother his heart adored and a father he ever hated. But mostly, he weeps for himself … Because the lady he loves most, has moved on. There is no going back. There is no more … Only the cold night to come. He reaches for the window, praying for a sign. But the vale has fallen between him and her … They are gone … And he is behind. They are gone … And the lord who was is dead.


	6. Chapter 6

The ledge was clean and clear. A flower-Pot sat there and a few dry leaves clung to the cool dark brick. Wind whistled through the porch, and there were voices in the yard. Earendil peeped ahead at the grey road and the high walls of the berg with tentative curiosity. The bole of biscuits felt like a heavy weight in his hands. Did she know? The warm porcelain banished the thought from his mind, and he sat cross-legged in a shady corner listening to the birds. A Crum or two landed on his clean white shirt. Frowning down at the spots and the half-empty platter, he wiped vainly at the cloth like a madman. Sure enough, he'd hear of it … The wooden boards of the porch creaked beneath a familiar footstep.

"Ah," Eldwin chuckled placing a hand on the child's shoulder. "Here's the culprit. You should be glad it was I who caught you."

Earendil stared gloomily at his stained garb and the warm bole. A bird swooped down from an aged birch and pecked a Crum from the floor.

"See," the boy squeaked excitedly hopping to his feet. "They like it to."

"And why shouldn't they," she softly replied lifting the bole from the cold floor. "Your mother's cooking is admired by everyone."

"Where is she now," he asked shaking a little with his back pressed against the wall. "I swear … It was only a mouthful."

"You should know better," Eldwin mused furrowing her brows. "The princes of the Noldor must keep in shape."

"I know," he mumbled bowing his head. "I'll listen …"

"You promise," she inquired placing the bole beside the flower-pot.

"I promise," he declared stumbling to her like the seven-year-Old lad he was.

"Very well then," Eldwin beamed shrugging her shoulders. "Your parents are out in the berg … You can take what you want … This time, but don't let me see you rushing off with more, you hear?"

"Eru bless thee," the boy cried clasping her hands. There was a reverence in his grip that made Eldwin's heart stir. There was so much bright eagerness there, she hadn't known before. Would I had a child, she reflected gazing down at him grinning from ear to ear.

"Eldwin," he squeaked lifting a biscuit to his dry lips, "Did you ever live in Valenor?"

"Why yes," she chuckled leaning against the cool brick of the ledge. "I left with your mother when we were but children. Surely she's told you all the stories."

"Yes," he mumbled chewing hard on the biscuit like his father. "Glorfindel was telling me about the two trees the other day and the Lamps of the Valar."

"Is that all he told you," she asked pursing her lips. The yellow-haired elf was known to run on.

"No," the lad managed to say scratching his head. "He's told me a lot more … About birds and beasts and the names of flowers I can never remember."

"What part do you like the most," she reflected patting his head with almost maternal affection. "You don't seem to be a lad occupied with birds and beasts."

"That's no mystery," he exclaimed, enthusiasm twinkling in his bold blue eyes. "I love the sea … You know … To hear about the mariners and their voyages out into the deep places, where the shipwrights sing. I dream of it sometimes … And of the ship I'll make."

"You think you'll build a ship," Eldwin said gazing out into the rows of thick green birches. "You've never seen the sea, silly. How do you know what it looks like?"

"I know," the boy declared staring back at her, and by the way his eyes sparkled, she knew he was right. There were some dooms the Valar kept to themselves.

The bridge was worn and looked very old. It stood in the middle of a grassy place and under it flowed a noisome brook. The gabled rooftops and ramparts of the berg grinned beyond the shade of the trees. Idril leaned against the balustrade of the bridge and gazed down at the dead leaves in the water. They clung to the surface like the twigs and thorns, but never lost their color. Tuor reached for her hand straining to feel her love course through him. But his fingers met only the dry fabric of her sleeve. He frowned pensively at their shadows on the cold rock, and he knew that she was trembling …

"Your father seemed well," he kindly murmured shaking his head. "Is ought amiss?"

"I feel it," she sighed turning to face him, her concern churning through her voice like the tumbling brook.

"Feel what," he stammered inching back to where the light of heaven fell upon the firm earth.

"The doom of Mandos," she whispered half to herself clasping his warm hand. "The warning of Ulmo … I have not forgotten."

"Neither have I," the man admitted in hushed contemplation. "But what more can we do?"

"I had a dream," she brooded aloud pacing along the bridge's edge where the dust met the cool green grass. "I had a dream that the city fell and the land drowned in blood. You were not there … But he was … And Earendil also. A gulf of fire and writhing chattel fled before my feet- A furnace of Morgoth."

"And what of our son," Tuor choked closing his eyes to avoid her own.

"Do you not know," she exhaled, wracked by grief. "Would you blame me … If I leapt?"

"I won't let that happen," he replied staring deep into her like a man strings a bow. "I'd kill the dark elf ere he touched you … Ere he could toss Earendil to the flames. You would have no cause to leap."

"I believe you," she warmly answered leaning over and kissing him. Her lips were rich with knowing. "I do not despair Tuor … But I cannot sit idle while the tide is turning. The Valar have warned us enough. It is time … Time for us to act."

"And what do you suggest we should do," he mumbled embracing her like he never had before. There was strength there she could trust … And courage no words could give justice to. "I am with you Celebrindel … With you every step of the way. Just tell me … And I will follow."

"I know," she affirmed burning brighter than the day star. "And that is why I'm telling you … We must build or hew a way of escape- a tunnel bearing thy Sigel that none may find save those we know. Only then will the darkness of Maeglin be foiled."

"The rock of the kingdom is akin to adamant," Tuor exclaimed pondering the thought. "I will seek out what builders I can, known to have least love for the dark elf. But shouldn't we warn your father?"

"We will tell him in our own time and place," Idril assured herself hoping against hope. "But first we must begin … We cannot confront the court yet with what we know. Maeglin holds great power in the circles of the king. Better let the serpent unmask himself ere the darkness fall."

But deep in her heart she knew … Knew that her father would never listen … And that the world that she knew was about to meet destiny head on. The answer was written in her husband's face. He peered up at the clouds … Listening perhaps to the cry of the eagles far, far above.

The entrance to the caverns was delved into a grey rock-face coated in moss and lichen. It stood at the roots of a mighty mountain capped with snow, and all about the hollow, Maeglin could hear the winds of doom whispering. Far behind in the West twinkled the rooftops and battlements of the king in the fading light. Dusk was falling all about the land, and where the greenwood gathered, bonfires were already being kindled. Rings of smoke arose in the pink sky and made a halo about the encircling hills. Maeglin shut himself to the magic of that place and entered the calm dark. The mouth of the cavern swallowed him and he embraced the downward climb. The light of heaven dwindled away like a dying star, and at length there was only shadow. He was home here. The archways and subterranean rivers beckoned to him like familiar faces through the gloom. Each passage had a name, and every corridor a story. The red glow from his lantern clove the way as his feet pattered on beyond the leaguer of Gondolin.

The way ahead had been formed naturally from the living rock. A narrow entrance lay ahead running deep into the mountain whereas two other corridors opened on the right and left. Maeglin had won ore from the middle way and had trekked left with his band of quarrymen for the past month. But the right way … There dwelt the mystery, and the eternal night his heart craved. Without daring to change his mind or reconsider, Eöl's son turned his back on the crossroads and passed through into the unknown dark. For the rest of his days, he would never remember what called him to that place- whether it was pride or vanity. He had gems of exceeding wealth and bars of gold to fill his pockets. It was the lure of the untrod road that drew him from the middle way, and there he was undone.

The first of his misfortunes came briskly like most misfortunes do. His feet snagged on a ledge, and in the blink of an eye, he went tumbling onto the floor- lantern and all. The red tongue of flame puffed out and for a long while, he lay panting in the pitch dark. Fortunately, an elf's eyes aren't like a man's, and if he has traveled long in the deep places of the earth, he can see through the gloom better then a cat. What was most unfortunate for Maeglin though was his fall. His pack had fallen off his back and wedged its poor self in a crevice far below. Maeglin had come to a ledge running almost forty feet deep and more than a good yard wide. He was trapped and very much alone with nobody to help or guide him. Lying there face-up in the gloom, his mind turned to Idril and her abominable child.

"Why," he half muttered to himself having no-one to talk to. "Why me?"

And it was then a hard cold voice answered not from within but from without.

"You've come too far," it called like ice. "There is no going back."

"No," he groaned fighting against hands he could not see. "No!"

But it was too late. He was surrounded by hulking shapes that snapped and bit like animals. The one who had spoken wore a helm crowned with twin spikes like an insect. Maeglin didn't need a tinder-box to know he had been captured by Orcs.

"By Eru," he cried struggling to break free of another's grasp. "Let me go! Let me be!"

But the yammering didn't cease. A wool sack was thrust over his head and for a stifling minute his entire body convulsed in pain. His arms were tied behind his back and his feet curled into a knot no sane person could call comfortable. What came later flew by in a dry blur. With the sack over his head, he couldn't breathe and lost consciousness. His dreams were always nightmares choked with torture and dismay. But by the time he woke, the sack had been lifted and he was out in the open.

Grey sky rolled on overhead and he was lying in a cart filled with fêted bones and broken mining tools. A slab of rock lay across his chest heavier than anything he could remember, and where his head met the planks of wood there crept a bighting pain. Now and again the cart would pitch on a stump in the road and he could hear the Orcs grumbling in a fell tongue he couldn't understand- course and jagged like the stones he had hewn as a child. After the contraption had stopped, he was dragged from under the heap of trash and hurled onto what felt like concrete. A flurry of dust danced before his face and, he crouched prone doused in filth and mud.

"Get up," an Orc called in a voice like curdled milk. "Get up and let us have a look at you!"

He didn't move. His male coat had saved him from the worst of the scratching and abuse. But one blow from a pike or boot and he would be done for. There was no way to run.

"He is not for sport," the cold voiced Orc called from the head of the line. Maeglin didn't dare to gaze up. He could see the hulking shadow dance across the ashen earth. "The master wants this one intact … He is to be taken to the king alive … And unspoiled."

"Unspoiled," the other hissed shuffling on the dusty road. A murmur of discontent flew through the ranks like the breath of hell.

"Those are my orders," the chieftain growled darting to one side. The dark elf could hear a knife clatter against metal and a sharp gurgling noise escape the other's lips.

Rolling over in the mud, Maeglin could see the corpse lying in the dirt like a squashed bug. A puddle of black blood pooled along the road. Flies already buzzed about the herd of murderous beasts and above all stood the chieftain with eyes like coal.

"You like what you see," he snickered lifting the stained knife to the crowd. But Maeglin's eyes weren't on the corpse or the blade. Only a few miles down the road from where the band had gathered, arose the towering gate and rampart of the pass … And beyond that …

Eöl's son drooped his head to his hands in utter defeat. They were taking him to Angband! The cart rolled up over the body and creaked with rusted apathy a foot from the elf lord's head. The sack was thankfully tossed over his shut eyes, and the darkness took him. But death wouldn't come …

He awoke in a place unlike any other- all was dark and silent. His hands and feet were unbound and his head free from clamor. The clothes he wore were clean and his male coat sagged folded neatly at his side. The place where he lay was padded like leather and smelt of hide. A great wave of relief darted through his mind, and he pondered mute for some time gazing hard at the sealing. But whether it was formed of rock or wood, he could not say. A strange Sigel was carved there in markings too dim to read. A pale light entered his line of vision and for a breath, he felt a warmth soak through his bones that reminded him of his father's home. Puzzled he exhaled and buried his face in his hands.

"Where am I," he asked wracking his brain to lend him clarity.

The voice that answered him was calm and deep like his fathers had been at labor. There was power there that would not sleep and an eye that pressed hard against the spirit.

"You know," it said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You merely refuse to admit it to yourself."

"What do you mean," the dark elf called not daring to gaze up into his face. "Why do you torment me so?"

"I do not torment you," the voice kindly spoke with a hint of humor. "You do that yourself."

"What do you want," he cried to the darkness bighting his lip. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," the voice replied with a touch of humor. "That is … I want nothing for myself. I just want you to be free."

"Free," the dark elf groaned feeling the bitterness of his heart. "Free! How can I ever be free! She's gone! She's left me!"

"Good," the voice urged ringing in the elf lord's head. "Your anger feeds your purpose. Come Maeglin … Look on me with your own eyes."

And he did … Slowly at first hardly believing he would ever listen to the night or obey his summons. But the gentle nature of the voice and the pain that consumed him lead him to look … And besides. What did he have to lose? He was already a dead creature- lost and bereft of love. The face that stared back at him was neither hideous nor beautiful. The lord had eyes the color of black satin and his coat of male hung decked with the finest craftsmanship he had ever seen. On his head hung the iron crown and set firmly above each brow burnt the jewels Fëanor wrought long ago in Valenor. Fine scars ran down the lord's forehead and cheeks. But the marks added to his regal features and lent expression to his hallowed form.

"You are he," Eöl's son affirmed feeling astonishment awaken in him like a torrent of flame. "But how is this possible?"

"My brothers and sisters have lied to you concerning me," the dark lord sighed bowing his head. "They have marked me with their wounds and have waged war unjustly. Is not the truth written in my face?"

"It is," Maeglin exclaimed believing now what he never could before. "But how do I know you aren't luring me? Why did your servants mishandle me?"

"They are animals," the king rumbled almost in lament. "They are unfitting to be called my children. Yet they prove willing servants. You … You are different. Eru sent me in his wisdom to free you from the yoke of the Valar and elevate his chosen out of bondage. But it seems my brothers have set man with elf maid and contrive my downfall."

The dark elf gazed into the light of the Silmarils and thought he saw her with him … And that nave child fumbling at her knee. A fire born of lust and fury fed his hungry spirit, and he craved to cast Idril Celebrindel on the hard floor and take her, if he might, without shame. The others could burn. Why should he care? They never cared for him.

"I know your heart," the darkness called brooding with a cunning spirit. "Tell me where the hidden city lies … Show me a way in- aid me and you will be lord of Gondolin! Idril will be your own."

Maeglin Eöl's son locked eyes with the lord of hell and knew then that there was but one choice. All of Arda would sing his praise- King of the Eldar … Giver of freedom. Nothing would be outside his reach. All he had to do was take what he pleased … The thought changed him and molded his perception. He was a knew lord now- An architect of destiny.


	7. Chapter 7

The words on the page were no more than a blur to Earendil. The boy yawned and pretended to read a few more lines ere handing Glorfindel the scroll. They were both sitting in the court of the fountain with their backs to the king's halls. The crowd of wanderers had parted for the marketplace. Now the court was silent save for the voice of the fountain. Now they were alone.

"So what did you learn," the Golden elf urged furrowing his brows. "Come on … You don't have to be shy."

"I know- I know," Earendil groaned wracking his brain for the answer,"Fëanor lead the lesser part of the Noldor across to Middle Earth while the greater party suffered the grinding ice …"

"Very well put," the elf lord said not a little surprised. "But you know I know better."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Earendil blurted out trying to wear his father's passive face.

"I'm sure you don't," Glorfindel snorted rolling up the scroll properly. "We're all eager for the celebration. The festival is upon us. We're all distracted."

"The Gates of Summer," the boy exclaimed clapping his hands. "Mama tells me it's always her favorite time of year."

"Really," the yellow-haired elf mused feigning astonishment. "Please tell me why …"

"She loves dancing in the garden with papa," he replied bobbing his head. "And Eldwin gets to play her harp."

"And what do I do," Glorfindel asked clearly amused.

"You stand and guard the king," the boy cried enthralled by the idea. Being a knight was every lad's dream afterall. "You parade in full armor and call for the banners to be drawn at daybreak."

"Splendid," the elf lord declared blushing with pride. "You learn swiftly young master."

"Do you think I will ever ride with the king someday like you and father," Earendil cried lifting his wooden sword from its sheath. His hand trembled holding the pommel as though he bore a heavy weight.

"I think you'll do better then that," Glorfindel said in a hushed voice. "I think you'll build that boat and sail across the sea."

"Even to Valenor," the boy squeaked putting down his sword.

"Nobody has been back to Valenor," the elf lord stammered feeling a tad silly. "The way is shut."

"Well then," the lad declared standing to his full height. "I will open it."

"Maybe you will," Glorfindel chuckled patting the lad on the back. "Maybe you will …"

But the boy's eyes weren't on his teacher. They were on the fountain and the basin of water at the heart of the court. Another was standing there clad all in black with eyes the shade of hell. The child locked gaze with him and smiled … His teeth sparkling in the noon-day sun like purls. The dark elf took a step back and departed the way he came- His face a mask of regret and suffering. But the boy didn't move. He remained kneeling on the gravel, his fingers still clasping the wooden sword.

The strings of the harp were cool and firm beneath her fingers. She could feel the cords run through her like a dream does upon waking. The night was calm and soft. Not a sound broke the cozy air. All was born of melody. His hand was on her shoulder … And his head nestled between her side and the wall. Her hands shook. Grey eyes the color of deep water lit by moonlight bore into her soul … And in that fleeting breath, he was smiling … She stirred and placed the harp at his feet, the cloth of her dress trembling in a blessed breeze.

"I could never play like that," he warmly mused clasping her hand like the lord he was. "You'll be some spectacle at daybreak …"

"But merely an act without you," she replied in a voice like lamplight in the valley. "The festival can wait … You are tomorrow. With you I can forget the night."

"The day I left Valenor I was a proud lord," the elf captain sighed shutting his eyes. "I thought I could change the world … But it wasn't power I was looking for … It was you. I hope we never have to use this tunnel … But I never want to take a step further without you."

"Nor would I," Eldwin murmured feeling a darkness creep into that hidden place. "Nor would I."

"No," Ecthelion grinned leaning over and kissing her. There were silver droplets on his cheeks like diamonds in the starlight. "Promise me … Whatever happens, you'll take this … way of escape."

"But darling don't be silly," she giggled embracing him with all the love her limbs could convey. "We don't have to worry about that now … Do we?"

"I don't know," he whispered gazing out into the gathering night. "I just don't know."

"Come here," Eldwin chuckled placing her head on his broad shoulder. "We have all the night before us."

The night was passing. Varonwë could feel that much in his bones. The air was growing lighter, the ale was flowing faster, and the party was winding to its apex. Tents and pavilions dotted the bustling vale. Children and wives called out with new voices, their bare feet rustling on the yard. Red bonfires burned through the hectic haze, and no person was idle. Yet most of all, the king was best pleased. He towered above the pressing throng, his brow bound in silver- A chieftain of love and wisdom. No elf lord could have asked for more. No elf lord could have expected less. The Gates of Summer were at hand.

"To think we helped build all this," Turgon softly said turning to Varonwë, his eyes beaming with pride.

"No my lord," the elf lord answered meekly bowing his head. "You made this …"

"We've all played our part," the king chuckled blushing hard in humility. "It feels like only yesterday since you departed to find the holy isle … Now … Here we stand united under the stars."

"Yea," Varonwë smiled clutching his sword's hilt. The twine around the hilt dug into the palm of his hand. But he didn't care … He was a knight in a great king's house, and the vale was fair and wondrous. "When I first found him on the beach … I knew we would stand here … Like this."

The king nodded peering through the shadows at his daughter on the lawn. She was with him alright and grinning broadly with joy. Earendil sat nestled between them, his mother's hand on his head. The sight moved Turgon to great hope.

"After the grinding ice I thought my life was over," he sighed gazing up at the purple sky. "I was wrathful at the Valar … At Eru … And myself for letting her die. I can still remember the warmth of her breath on my cheeks, and the way she'd whisper at dusk. Only now, I begin to understand … She's still there … Here in Gondolin …. How apart of her is Gondolin."

"Begging your pardon my lord," the elf lord stammered retreating to the trunk of an old oak. The bark felt damp and clean against his back. "She isn't in a city … Or a kingdom. She doesn't belong to the ice, or to the bighting breeze. She dwells in your heart … And nobody can slay that."

"I want to believe you," the king murmured gazing knowingly into his friend's eyes. They were grey like the deeper shade of the wood- aged and new. "I really do … "

"It's never easy," Varonwë replied scratching his chin, his mind churning in contemplation.

"It never is," the king mumbled peering up at the fading moon. "It never can be."

The elf lord could say no more. The links of his male coat gleamed through his sable tunic. A pale light was peering over the encircling mountains … A dull throbbing glow that he couldn't place. It didn't feel like the new day. It had too much fire in it, like the glint of an oven at work. The king's eyes lifted and locked gaze with the West where the kindling burnt brightest, and there was fear there Varonwë had never seen. A low rumbling filled the air, harsh and coarse like many machines sputtering all at once … And then dread sharper than the sword. A cry leapt up from the rocky heights like the voice of death. Gentle maids and daughters hurled themselves upon the dust and wept. Husbands decked in male gaped dumbfounded at the dark shapes already creeping down grey crags. Knights and bowman of many houses banded together in packs nigh bonfires and grassy hillocks. The enemy had come.

The king watched his daughter embrace her husband and lift their child from the rocky earth, her face like steel. It reminded him of her mother's, the way she looked that day on the ice … Her eyes cold and blank in resignation. Rage took him, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs for armored lords and plans of war … No drake of Morgoth would take Gondolin! The city had to stand. It would not fall! But his words fell on deaf ears … Glorfindel and Ecthelion were down by the gate. The chieftains of the houses were scattered like leaves before the wind. The Black Hand was on them now, clawing at the very heart of the elder children on earth. Who could withstand the might of Morgoth?

"Mighty is the fall of Gondolin," the king called feeling despair wake inside, and all marveled who heard him. For those same words had been spoken of old by the doomsman ere departing into exile. Had not he foretold unnumbered tears? Night blacker than the eve that was, crept into the very spirit of the berg, and through the golden city clouds of smoke bloomed. Turgon turned his back on the onslaught and hid his eyes. It was just too much to take.

The cobblestones of the road were cold and coarse beneath Idril's bare feet. Grime and dirt coated her knees, and the thick dust made her pant like a pack mewl. The thought was too unsettling to dwell on … There was only the brick wall ahead and the mile of darkness behind, creeping up to swallow her and her boy. The lad was crying now, the way a child cries. Deep sobbing tears filled his face, and she could feel the pain there no words could dispel. His wooden sword still hung at his side like a badge of innocence in that broken place. He might have even looked comical if it hadn't been for the dense smoke and stench of death.

"Mama," he yammered puffing like a kettle about to overflow. "Mama! Mama!"

"We can't stop here darling," she called grinding her teeth. "Only a little while now and we can climb the steps to the battlements to help the others. Don't you want to see them again?"

"But my legs are sore and I can't run any further," he wined spluttering like the lad he was. "Now can't we …"

"No," she half-screamed lifting him off the ground. But as she did so, she saw the marks on his hands from falling and the red stains on his tunic. He was hurt … And cut open here and there- Not serious but enough to make a mother cringe.

"Please mama," he choked gurgling with the pain. She bit her lip hard … Too hard and tasted blood. Her fingers ran the length of her son's wavy hair. If she had a cart … But she couldn't carry him far without meeting the paved ground herself and that would be worse. How would Tuor find them? Could he find them … And what of her father? The memory of her husband's warm lips against her quivering face made her gaze up at the dike. The wall beyond reared bleak and dreary above the aching landscape. A flight of marble steps glinted in the flickering light and made Idril's head quail. There was no helping it … There was no other way to reach the maids and young folk of the berg. She could turn back around the bend toward the caves … Hide out in the gentle darkness and rest on the clean grass. Yes … She and her son could roam free, daring the wilderness until father and Tuor could return. Surely they would understand. What would they do in her place … Stand and ward the city? But the thought of leaving so many to waste away and die, shamed her inside. The way ahead had to be dared …

"You love your papa," Idril murmured clasping her child's hand. "You see those trees burning … And the big knights in male marching?"

The lad nodded shivering on the street like a dog abandoned to the frost. The shaft of his wood sword wriggled in his shaky grasp.

"Tell me," she coolly whispered tugging him up like a rag-doll, "Are you as brave?"

"I think I am," he huffed pursing his cracked lips. His brow was drenched with sweat and felt very hot beneath her soft fingers. There was sadness in those sea blue eyes and a kind of angst that bit at her heart more than his wining.

"Long ago before you were born there was a great battle," she murmured- her voice a pool of memory. "Your grandpa Huor fought and died in that battle … And do you know what he said before he gave up his life for grandpa Turgon?"

"What," the lad excitedly whooped lifting high his wooden blade. The polished surface almost looked real in the half-light. Idril smiled.

"He spoke in omen," she whispered patting his head. "He said that from both their houses a new star would arise … And that star is you. Now the only way you're going to be that star is if you reach those steps there … And live. As Eru reigns above the world, there is nobody on this earth who I love more than you. Don't let me down now … Don't let him down here …"

And then a strange thing happened, Idril would never forget. The boy stuffed his toy sword into his belt and stood tall like a tree that does not waver before the gale. He looked older then and proud like the elf sires of old. But in his eyes dwelled his father's love, and there was a tenderness there that melted her heart to hope.

"I won't let you down," he said taking the next step forward. "By Eru … I never will."


	8. Chapter 8

The girl lay face-up in the dirt drenched in blood. Her hair had been the color of chestnut and her eyes a pale green. He had killed her. Maeglin knew this … His hands were too sticky to be clean. The thought left him brooding on the pavement. He was high up on the battlements where the women and children had gathered. She had clung to her mother as the band of Orcs came and screamed at him … "Traitor … Traitor … Traitor!" What else could he do? His father's black blade lay at her side now like the hand of death. The hilt clattered against the cobblestones and grime when it fell. The hollow echo still rang in his ears- a dead sound in a dead place. The towers crumbled to the earth like toy-blocks. The roar of the drakes shook the very earth and broke open the great gate. A black tide burst through the West like a cloud forked with lightning. There could be no escape- Only retribution … And freedom. A careless smile uprooted any remorse he might have held …. Let the children burn! A new age would come. The fortress would be rebuild, and the stage of war recast. No longer need the Eldar cringe and hide … They had a new king- A new God, and he … Maeglin Eöl's son would stand at his side. They would bow to him and grant him gifts of gold and land. All the West would sing his praise and call him savior. Yea, Gondolin was a petty price to pay. The dark elf jeered down at the corpse.

"You call me traitor," he sneered kicking the damp thing. It was no longer a girl afterall- only a hunk of rotting meat.

"You think you have the answers," he sniveled licking his lips … Imagining Idril in her place. "Come on … Get up if you are so high and mighty. Get up! Get up!"

But the corpse just lay there deaf and mute to all pain. The heel of his boot knocked her skull hard and a few teeth broke free. He spat on her, lifted his black sword, and pushed the dead thing off the edge … The battlements ended in a great cliff- The same dreadful leap Eöl was made to take. The dead thing that had been a girl plummeted down … down through the swirling smoke and frigid air. A plume of dust and rubble spilled from on high … And the body was out of sight. There was only dirt, guts, and brick where she had laid … and groveled … and died.

For a long while, he crouched at the edge … The folds of his dark cloak fanned in a fiery breeze. Then the aching came, hard and deep … A baleful feeling in his chest he could not push away. A raindrop fell like ice on his cheek and made him wince like a hunter caught in his own trap. The hot tears gushed through the mask he called his face. His hands curled round thin air … And he peered down into nothingness. Only one leap … And all the pain could go away. Who could blame him? But then he heard her …

Two shadows crept along the weary rock. Both wavered at the top-step and melted into dismay reaching the landing. The floor was littered with shards of glass and metal. Dozens of pale corpses lay in heaps like chattel … And beyond loomed the drop.

"They're all dead," he mumbled in utter apathy turning his head. His feet took him to the steps where he had them pinned between himself and the edge.

"Not how you expected it to end," he sighed lifting an eye-brow. Idril limply stood like a broken doll, her eyes windows of defeat. Earendil crouched at his mother's feet, his face burning brighter than the day-star. The look there spoke volumes … Liar … Fiend!

"You don't believe me," he groaned shaking his head. "Step back kid and let me approach your mother. We have unfinished … Business to attend to."

"No," the boy cried brandishing his wooden sword like a knight. "I won't let you."

"You won't let me," the dark elf snickered snatching up the toy and tossing it down the steps. The clattering of the wood against the marble descent brought tears to the child's blue eyes. But he held his ground unflinching in the face of death.

"Move boy," the night growled with Maeglin's lips. "Go or I'll cut your throat!"

But the boy merely bowed his head before the black blade and knelt silently brooking defeat with grace.

The panic in Idril's face only grew. She could not retreat or step between her child and the blade. They were alone. A pale hand … His hand reached out for Earendil and held his collar. The child teetered breathless above the earth flailing like a caged thing. Idril had no choice. She flung herself against Maeglin and tore at his face with her nails. Earendil's jaws snapped, and the dark elf could feel his sword-hand yield. His grip waned and the child toppled to the ground. The black sword rose in anger and low …. The blade of an ax flew from the topmost step of the landing. A grey shape arose there towering over the nave like Oromë the bold. Maeglin knew that blade and knew the lord that carried it. A terror more horrid then death ran through the dark elf, and he knew ….

"Dramborleg," the man cried hacking at his foe like the lord he was. "Dramborleg! Dramborleg!"

Once … Twice … three times the blades clashed and parted. Sparks flew between them casting grim reflections on the dead floor. The dreadful place erupted only a few inches from where they stood- neck to neck at the heated test. Maeglin could feel his strength leave him like a wave. The face of the world reared brown and ugly before his eyes. The silver ax arched through the air … And the end came. Eternal night blacker than the depths of Angband took him. He raged against it … Gnawed his teeth against it … Grappled senselessly against the fall he knew must come. But it was nothing … And the nothing claimed him like it always does- hard and painful. The last thing he saw ere his sight left him was Idril looking down at him … And she was smiling. The place beneath him was creeping darkness. A girl was waiting there … An elf maid with chestnut hair and sad eyes. She was waiting for him …

The river ran red. There were bodies on the shore and pale faces in the water- grim faces silent and fair. He looked on, feeling the weight of those shallow depths. A leaf fell from on high and sent ripples through the warm water. A heavy fog lay all about that glade, and Ecthelion could feel his brow burn with rage and regret. He turned from the blood river and the broken places to find his folk marching gloomily through the pass. Gnarled birches and oaks lined the muddy way. There were pits by the side of the road and dark glens writhing with hidden shapes. Ecthelion could feel his heart sink within him deeper then the roots of the mountains. But he strode on, crossing the wide planks of the bridge, until he came to the other shore. No grass grew there, and above the treetops dragon-fire loomed. A figure was standing there arrayed all in male, his winged helm a token of bygone days in that hapless country. The elf captain knew him at once, but did not budge. The man ambled forward but did not speak. There was a haunted feeling in his step no words could define.

"He's dead," he stammered trying to find the right words to say. "Maeglin … He's dead."

"How do you know," the elf lord mumbled wiping his forehead with his filthy sleeve. There were patches of dirt there from the road.

"I killed him," the man admitted shaking a little, not knowing what to think. "He tried to kill them … Kill them both. He just … Just fell."

"And what about them," Ecthelion inquired, an Ernest look in his eyes. "Is Idril and Earendil fled?"

"I told them to," Tuor sighed with Huor's voice. "The rest …. I cannot say. I am not Eru."

"Nor I," the Lord of the Fountain grumbled shuffling ahead onto the highway. The columns of the archway glowered down at them from a few yards away. There were bowmen there, and they were all clad in black.

"You ready for this," Ecthelion moaned gesturing to the enemy lying in wait. His hand trembled with the pain.

"Born ready," the man curtly lied grasping his ax. The shaft was hewn of wood and bore runes of power. The elf lord nodded and braced himself for the charge. It was time.

The footmen leapt, their war-cry splitting the noisome air like a hurricane. The bow-strings were loosed, and arrows fell all about the oncoming troop. Ax met hard steel and woven male. Orcrest burnt blue and was stained to the hilt in dark blood. The black tide foundered and the Orcs broke and ran, yammering back into the shadows.

"Elbereth," the elf captain cried cleaving a path through the pressing throng. "Elbereth Estel Nin!"

The archway drew nearer and nearer. Tuor bolted past and found his way into the Court of the Fountain. Clear waters rolled down from on high, and the basin below murmured with the voice of Ulmo. White flowers grew on the green grass, and there were benches there still warm from a night of merriment. Huor's son gazed on, relief etched in his worn face. Ecthelion panted a few feet away, blood oozing from his sword-arm. An Orc blade had cloven through cloth and hauberk.

"Only a flesh wound," the elf lord mumbled looking paler than usual. "Give me time … "

"No," the man exclaimed rushing to his friend's side. He let the elf lord lean on his shoulder and cling to his male-coat for support.

"Nothing escapes you Tuor," the lord of the fountain laughed. The sound felt strange in that court. It seemed to echo off the stone walls and steps in a way that reminded Tuor of Nevrast.

Elf friend and elf lord stumbled together toward the cool waters. They could hear the others still bumbling out in the archway leaning against the columns. To Ecthelion they could have been worlds away. He felt his head grow heavy like a lead weight and his eyes shut by themselves. His lips met clean water, and he drank greedily forgetting the agony. Orcrest hung limply in his hand. He opened his eyes to find he was drinking from his friend's helm. Tuor had removed his prized helm and had filled it with the contents of the basin. The elf captain couldn't help but smile. Eldwin would have approved. He wanted to tell her how right she had been all along about this noble man. He wanted to look her in the eye and drink in her love like the knight he was. A numbing feeling ran through his chest, and for a brief instant he was back with her in the garden whispering about Idril and this man of Dor Lomen. For an instant, he was beside her with his head pressed against the soft linen of her dress and breathing in her ethereal sent. Huor's son frowned down at his friend and just nodded.

"You're thinking about her," he affirmed furrowing his brow. "I'm sure she is thinking of you …"

"I know," the elf lord gasped staring up at the sky. Daylight had won through the storm-clouds. A new wind was turning. "If I don't make it out of here … Please tell her … Tell her that I never truly lived until the day we met. Tell her that I've always loved her and that I always will …. No matter where I'm going after … after this. You … You must …"

"Easy now," the man hummed in a soothing voice putting down the helm. He thought he saw Maeglin's reflection in the cold metal. The thought made his skin crawl.

It was then, he looked at the sword. Orcrest had burnt brightly since the black tide broke through into the city. But now … It was almost on fire with intensity. Something was coming … Something dark and menacing. The elf lord's eyes crawled up to meet his, and for a long moment they just stood there but two wanderers in a dying world. The others beneath the archway screamed in horror and fled in all directions. Not one escaped the city. A rumbling deeper than the caverns of the earth shook the very foundations of Ecthelion's hope. It couldn't be …

"Gothmog," his companion half-whispered. "He's here …"

A hulking shadow towered over man and elf between the grey columns. In one hand, he bore a whip and in the other a sword made of flame. The whip cracked and a fear horrid to know flew through the man's bones. He quailed hiding his face from the terror. There was no way out. Ecthelion writhed against the dark and approached the evil, his armored chest sparkling like silver through the oncoming gloom. All garments cast aside, he stood steadfast and unyielding, a knight of valor undimmed before the ending of the world … And the great night envied him, and struck hard with a hand that brooked no mercy. The two swords clashed and a tumult came to pass the likes of which no man will see again. The marble of the court burst asunder. Ash and dust rained down on the parched land like a gale … And still the battle wore on.

Far above the courtyard an elf made is watching. She is a lady with fair hair and eyes like pools of night. Her moist lips are pressed to the window, and she can feel the hot tears role down onto her pallid cheeks. Her lips move in prayer for him … Because he is her husband, and without him she is alone. A blinding flash of searing light erupts from the fountain below. He is standing … Wavering on the brink, his sword-arm a bleeding mess. Above him grows the shadow, consuming and malignant … And she knows this is the end. But low, even as he pitches into the crushing deep, the spike on his helm thrusts hard into the demon's chest. The whip cracks and curls about the edge, and both topple headlong into the flowing water. She casts her fist against the window and lets the warm blood spill out. She calls out his name … Screaming at the top of her lungs- A harsh cry rigid with lament. But he does not hear, and there is only the silence and the court beyond. He is gone, and she is panting. He is gone, and Gondolin is dead. A flight of steps grins up at her from her high perch. One jump, and she need not fear … One jump, and she need not be alone. The thought burns her and sends her writhing to the drop. Her feet move … But they will not let her … Because he won't let her. It is not her time. Her head sags against the wall, and she inches back to the window. But there is nothing left to see, only a ruined courtyard, and a man kneeling in the cold.

The book was torn. The pages were ripped in places and wrinkled like skin. But no blood came. There was only the dull smell of glue and dust. His fingers pressed hard against the leather binding, and he gazed intently at the letters she had made there. Only a little while, and she would be with him. Only a little while, and he would be home. Turgon could see her now standing brighter than all the stars of Varda's field, and she was weeping. He reached out for her still clutching the book, but she wouldn't budge. Her tears ran down onto his hands, and he could feel the ground beneath him quaver.

"Not yet," she whispered lifting a finger to her pressed lips. "Soon … "

"When," he called ringing his hands in despair. "When … Elenwë … Elenwë!"

But she faded, and there was only the leap of death ahead … The courtyard lay below, and he could see his people crying up to him. Fools, he thought grinding his teeth. Fools the lot of them. Run … and live … But the crowd would not depart. They clung to the foot of the tower like children. He knew what they wanted. The yearning lived in their baleful faces. But he couldn't give it to them. He would not descend from the tower, a defeated king. The Black Hand was coming to find him, and he would meet it head-on.

"Mighty is the victory of the Noldor," he wailed raising his hands to the sky. But no sunlight came- Only thunder.

It was then, the dragon came. It was then, he knew the end had come. He was a large creature with eyes of malice and jaws of hell. All fled before his maw, and where he went doom followed. The beast burst through bars of iron and blades of steel like a gale. Hot red light flooded heaven and earth, and he could feel the foundations of the fortress slipping into the abyss. The cries ceased, and for a long while there was only deep rumbling like the purr of a tom-cat and then …

The booklet flew from his grasp. He vainly stretched forth his hand to catch the bundle of papers. But it was too late … There was only the emptiness ahead, and the long dark, gaping wide to take him. Wraiths danced there in the gloom. Friends and liegemen huddled about in the open places to greet him. He could see his sister peering out to catch him with her glance, and king Thingal with his crest of golden flowers. Orodreth and Fingolfin knelt side by side clad in green and grey. But only one face found him. Only one hand clasped his and wrenched him free from the world. She had come … And she was no longer weeping. Her cheeks were soft and wet, and her lips were firm beneath his own. All sorrow left him, and, Turgon could feel grass beneath his feet. The sky above was bright and blue and through the haze of gentle light, ageless peace loomed.

"So this is dying," he said hardly recognizing his own voice.

"No," she laughed embracing him like she had so many years before. "This … This is life."


	9. Chapter 9

The wooden sword was broken. The hilt had splintered from the blade, and there were shards of the crossbar missing. The twine around the pommel had come undone, and the runes that Ecthelion had carved along the face of the weapon were no more. At another time and place, Earendil would have clung to his mother's dress and wept for hours on end. But Idril was with Eldwin, and both were dry with grief. Sad eyes followed them wherever they went, and where the tall knights gathered Maeglin's name was whispered. The lad could still feel those coal black eyes on him, and the long deep gaping beneath like the jaws of some brooding beast. There was no way home. The landscape behind was a grey mess. All around them reared grim wasteland, and on either side of the road grew the hellish mountains- Dark and stern.

The boy lagged behind the others and locked gaze with his father. He lifted the broken thing to his face, and the worn knight nodded. The boy shuffled to the end of the path where the brown boulders were piled up in a heap. Kneeling on the damp earth, he placed the blade on the dank soil and the hilt nearby. Earendil bowed his head in honest defeat. There was no mending that which had been taken by the night. For a brief instant, he peered back at the way home, where the flat-lands met the mouth of the tunnel. But there was only a dream-like haze about the place, and a fog of death too dim to see through. The thought would have brought tears if there had been tears to shed. They had all gone up in smoke … And fire.

"Adar Eru," the lad called staring up at the deathless sky. "Adar Eru Nin Estel! O, Nin Estel!"

But the clouds would not part and the sun sagged hidden behind the hills. There was only the half-light and the cold shade. Earendil shuffled in the mud and fought the dull pain that erupted in his chest. A gentle hand tugged on his sleeve, and he peered up to find his father looking down on him. He was clad all in brown and bore his coat of male underneath like a knight marching to war. But the war had left his sunken cheeks, and there was an understanding in his gaze that dispelled doubt.

"Papa … Papa," the boy called clinging to his father's wrist. "Will we build a new home?"

"Yes," he answered helping his son to his feet. "We'll find a way … I promise."

"And will we see grandpa and Ecthelion again," the boy mumbled staring up at the heights above. "Won't we find them someday?"

"Yes," Tuor murmured resting his hand on his son's shoulder- His fingers taught with pride. "I spoke with a Vala once … remember?"

"I do," the lad reflected frowning down at his tattered tunic. "But it's hard to believe."

"It was for me to," his father admitted wiping the dirt from his son's garb. "Long ago … I didn't know what to believe in. My parents were dead. I had no friends. I was all alone … All alone in the Wilderness."

"And what changed that," Earendil inquired bighting his lip. "It was Ulmo … Right?"

"No," Tuor laughed shaking his head. "You would think so. But I was just a messenger not a profit … No matter what they say of me."

"Then who," the lad squeaked clearly interested.

"Not who exactly," Tuor explained looking his son directly in the eye. "Gondolin helped me believe … Gondolin made me the man I wanted to be."

"But Gondolin is no more," the child snapped reeling in bewilderment. "They killed it … He … He killed it."  
"No," Tuor firmly declared. "Gondolin isn't a city. Burn the towers … break the gate and Gondolin lives. You can kill the king and his ministers. You can even steel this life from his subjects. But you can never kill the truth. The truth resides with you … And nobody can take that from you."

"I think I understand," the lad pondered aloud, his face a portrait of peace. "But what then is truth?"

"Don't you know," his father chuckled gesturing to the road …. Or so it seemed. "Don't you have eyes to see?"

But at first, Earendil didn't see. He saw lords and ladies … Fair maids and children like himself. But he didn't see any truth in them, only a witless band of thoughtless individuals.

He turned to open his mouth- to upbraid his father's nonsense and kill the lies, but then he saw … His father wasn't pointing at the road. He wasn't even pointing to the people on it … Just to one person. The boy gazed up into his mother's pallid face and he understood. The answer woke in him like a flame that could not die. There was no doubt.

"Love," he cried letting the word linger in his throat. "Love is the answer!"

"Splendid," his father beamed grinning from ear to ear. "Now you're learning something."

He held the stone in the palm of his hand, and let go … Hundreds … Thousands of feet yawned below. The stone soared through the air, bouncing off of ledges and jagged outcroppings along the way. But there was only one way … And that was down. The rock met the bottom with a faint cracking noise and went silent. But by that time its face had been chipped to pieces, and it was only half the stone it used to be. Glorfindel couldn't make out the projectile … Only the whispering darkness. He turned to watch his kinsmen march down the narrow path. They were high up now and very tired. Eldwin wandered about almost oblivious to her peril. A great cliff-wall loomed on the opposite side of the pass, and no hand-maid could endure the dreadful fall. But she didn't see the chasm or the cliff. Her eyes were on a fountain dried up and barren far, far away. Her eyes were with a bloody corpse clad in a spiked helm, and a shadow that had no name. Sighing uncomfortably to himself, the elf lord scrambled to the lady and held her fast with his hands. She didn't blink- She didn't lash out in protest. Her limbs felt like bundles of straw heaped before the harvest. The thought made Glorfindel's heart sink deeper than the chasm.

"Eldwin," he whispered squeezing her fingers. They were stiff and ice cold. "Eldwin … You're free … You need to move on …"

"Move on," she exhaled not meeting his gaze. His spirit was too bright. "Move on … I … I can't."

Her free hand gestured to the leap of doom. The elf captain reeled against her despair and clung to her as though he himself was dying.

"No, no, no … No!" he cried holding her in place. "Don't you know what that means?"

"Peace," the lady smiled … But it wasn't a warm smile. It was flat and dead like her eyes. He could look into them now, and they were cool and darker than he had remembered them. There could be no doubt. She wanted to die …

"Eldwin," the elf lord called more gently this time, his face inches from her own. "Eldwin … Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she mumbled like one fighting sleep. "I … I do …"

"Then listen," Glorfindel urged feeling the weight of death lessen. "Do you know why Ecthelion died?"

"He died for his country and his people," she replied in a voice rigid in grief. "He died for Gondolin …"

"Yes that's all true," the elf lord murmured peering deeper into her soul. "But he died for something much, much greater … He died for a power that kept him fighting though all others about him had faded …"

"I don't understand," she moaned, her lips parting in bewilderment. Her teeth gleamed like diamonds in the half-light.

"He died for you," the elf captain insisted in a tone that brooked no argument. "He died … He died that you might live. All this time you've wandered in darkness. Wake up … Wake up and embrace the day. He is calling you … He is everywhere and in everything. All you have to do is listen … All you have to do is live …"

A flame seemed to enter the elf woman's eyes, brighter than all the lamps of the Noldor. It burned through woe and despair … It cut through hate and misguided anger. The flame was life, and she was … hope. In that one look Glorfindel knew he had succeeded. In that one look, Glorfindel knew that he had done his old friend proud. But even as the vale of night was lifted from Eldwin's heart, evil made his mark.

A harsh cry, bestial in its wrath, echoed down the mountains. In a blinding flash, arrows flew from either end of the ragged ranks. Children toppled over children. Knights mowed down friend and foe in the confusion. Orcs were everywhere. They had slipped through onto the flat places and now flooded the narrow heights. Eldwin flung herself on the ground and whimpered, forgetting all that she had learned.

"Ecthelion … Ecthelion … Ecthelion," she cried against the gathering storm. But in her mind, she was pleading with death to take her and spare the misery.

The elf captain's hand tugged at her for a breath, and than she heard it … The deep rumble of a Balrog. It was all happening again … And there was no preventing what was to occur. The elf woman hurled herself at her friend's knees and called out to him with a shrill voice.

"Don't go … don't go … Stay here … Don't fight him."

But he could only look back and shake his head. There was a mournful acceptance in his glance that her husband had worn … ere the end. Not daring to hide her eyes, she looked on, feeling desperate and helpless among the pressing crowd. The battle raged all around her. Older friends … Dearer friends plummeted to their death below. But her gaze was on him and him alone.

There was a clash of light like lightning, and the shadow came. He came huge and hideous in his anger. Lords and ladies crumpled to their knees and perished stricken at his feet. Only yellow haired Glorfindel held his ground. The blade of fire and the sword of dawn met amidst the madness. A sharp metallic sound came churning up like an anvil hard at work in the mountains, and …

The demon leaped atop a great boulder on the very edge of the drop. The elf lord followed slashing swifter than any captain of ax or scabbard had before. And low … even as the darkness gathered himself for a final blow, the elf lord struck … The hulking night went hurling down … And with him went Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. Both warrior and demon met their end flying through the musty air.

The Orcs wailed against the dying of the night. Legions mustered, and all would have been overcome in spite of the elf lord's victory. But even as all hope faded, there came the call of eagles. Down the highways of the air they soared, Thorondor and his brothers against the black tide. Sharp beaks and talons tore shirts of male and yellow fang. Goblins rushed headlong to join their kinsmen down in the thrashing void. Not one among the servants of the enemy broke free to bear the tale to Angband.

Yet Eldwin could care less. Her last hero … Her only champion after her beloved husband lay broken at the bottom of a pit. Her feet took her to the brink, and she paced along the end, willing herself to leave this life to join a better world. But the more she gazed down into those crushing depths, the more her heart misgave her. Glorfindel's words rang in her head.

"He died for you … He died that you might live …"

Still, how could he know? How could he understand her heart and mind? How dare he suppose he knew more about Ecthelion than she did? No, she would leap and find him … She would depart, and scorn him with his own folly. Just one step, and there would be no argument … No tearful march to go back to.

But Eru had other plans. She was bracing herself for the fall when, she felt a tiny hand tugging at the hem of her dress. She peered down … And there was Earendil. He looked up at her with those sea blue eyes, and there was a knowing there stronger than the hand of death.

"Don't," he begged, his words ringing through her like nothing else could. "I need you … We need you."

Her hand clasped his … And without turning back, she left the ledge. She could not abandon this child … Not now. There would be a time for death. But there were miles to go and a new world to see. The day had come. Golden light poured freely onto the blessed lands, and the clouds had parted. The sky was blue, and the road rich with promise. All was well.


End file.
